“Let’s go home,” Ryker said.

Owen looked up at his sister, then slowly reached out and took Ryker’s hand.

We walked out of the terminal, the airport police escorting us through the private exit.

The Chicago air was freezing as we stepped onto the tarmac where Ryker’s black SUV was waiting.

The heater in the vehicle was already blasting warm air.

The twins sat in the middle row, still silent, staring out the tinted windows at the runway lights.

I watched them from the front passenger seat, my heart aching for what they had been through.

“We need to find their Aunt Clara,” I whispered to Ryker as he drove.

“Marco is already looking,” Ryker replied, his eyes focused on the dark highway.

“Marissa must have threatened her to keep her away.”

The drive to the estate in Lake Forest took forty minutes.

The iron gates opened slowly, letting us into the long, snow-covered driveway.

The massive brick house looked warm against the dark winter night, the yellow lights glowing in the windows.

We brought the children inside, leading them to the guest wing where the rooms were already prepared.